She is close enough to me that I can see her, because even now there is the outward sign of visible light, even at night in this parking lot on the outskirts of Algoe. After we kiss, our foreheads touch as we stare at each other. Yes, I can see her almost perfectly in this cracked darkness.

When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.

The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you'll think "they'll remember me now," but (a) they don't remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion.

Books—they weren't ladders out of the abyss, but they were companions.

I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater.

I am concussed," I announced, entirely sure of my self-diagnosis.

Thank you for wearing that dress which is like whoa.